“What do you do?” ” I work. I earn a living.” “Doing what?” “An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.” “I am an artist, though, …..””oh reeeally, what’s your medium, have you sold any?” “It’s not a productive cash cow, art, it’s a way of life, id. A diferent and detailed version of what everyone else doesn’t see. A gift.” “oh.” The anthropoid turns heal and greets other guests, and the freak stands alone, looking for the neerest exit, free drinks along the way, retiring to think, and clarify, and dream.
I fuckin really loved what i wrote. I’ve read it, and read it, and read it……and THEN…… and then……
I had other thoughts, FWAMPS, however coming back was such a shit show getting to my site,…..I lost my train of thought. I am grateful for a forum to write my philantropes. I spook when there are gates and fences. Not to mention, changing my passwords and never remembering them.
And such it is.
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